Why Draco Malfoy Suffers From Postcoital Narcolepy
by somandalicious
Summary: DMHG A few visits to the healer was all Draco needed to remedy his strange constitution.


**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter belongs to J K Rowling. No profit is being made.

**Warnings:** none really, except for an abundance of adjectives and parenthesis.

**Notes:** I'd like to express my deepest affection for Jaytee, who beta'd my story and encouraged me in my darkest moments. And to Hools who is my muse and kept me sane with her own insanity.

o0o

This is a story about a wizard.

A thoroughly suave and debonair wizard, by his own account. He was fawned over by all witches and every wizard wanted to stand in his company. A real wizard's wizard, witch's wizard, wizard about town, if he was telling his story.

But he is not, and Wizarding Britain saw him as an abominable excuse of a wizard.

The female population labeled him as a roguish cad, but many still swooned at his piquancy, and the male community deduced he was a bit ponce-y and rather orotund. And when told this, the wizard in question simply speculated that envy was poisonous to the tongue and clouded his confreres' judgment.

But, it was no secret that the wizard was significantly deluded.

Draco Malfoy (who this story is undoubtedly about), liked chatty mirrors that would flatter him greatly, and his loafers to be well polished with Brutus Beelzebub's Brightly Buffering Butter. As an infinitely impeccably attired wizard, he often enjoyed admiring his reflection in the glossy toes of his shoes. He held grand esteem to those who also kept their footwear shiny and could often be found stealing a glance of his smirking visage in them as well.

Draco's vanity was indeed a problem. But as everything has a cause and effect, it was merely the cause, and his acknowledgement was the effect, which consequentially began with an action and a reaction. But let's not jump a head.

His favorite place to visit to indulge this sinful trait was Madam Sophie's Magical Beauty Parlor and Day Spa. He preferred a salon atmosphere rather than a common barber, giving ample opportunity to be pampered by an abundance of comely witches. Their intentness made for a pleasurable afternoon. Of course he also fervently wished that his continual patronage would be rewarded with happy endings of the sexual variety. Unfortunately, Madam Sophie's did not offer such services. As it were, her establishment was respectable and honest. However, the company did offer: shampoo, cut and dry, full body massages, and manicures. Draco wanted each favor in that precise order, even without the promise of extra enticements.

During the administrations of a lovely witch by the name of Tamerlaine, Draco decided he fancied himself a date with his masseuse. Upon voicing his wishes, she quickly acquiesced, and his mood increased considerably. It would seem an afternoon at the spa would ensure a happy ending after all.

Regrettably, for Tamerlaine, her evening, although wonderful, would not end happily.

She found his company amiable and his mouth dexterous, but as the coil of burning desire wound in her womb, he said quite eloquently, "Dear Merlin, I think I'm going to come." Her disappointment was justifiable when he rolled away from her and promptly fell into a deep slumber.

Tamerlaine had heard the whispers and gossip amongst the other witches about his alleged sleepiness after copulation. Yet, like every other witch to warm his bed, she too believed one of two things. One, it was naught more than a rumor and two, if it was true, she would be the witch to cure his constitution.

It was Draco's action of un-meditated sleep that brought forth Tamerlaine's reaction. She was not just any tart off the street and would not tolerate such horrid bedroom decorum. So out of anger and shame, she sprung from the navy cotton sheets and found her wand. She used a choice hex that zapped Draco right in his arse and he awoke with a shock.

In a very colorful vocabulary, Tamerlaine explained to him that his behavior post- shagging was unusual and rude. But not only that, he was rubbish at satisfying a witch completely and it was no wonder he couldn't keep one for an extended period of time. She also suggested quite vehemently that he was sick and needed to seek professional help.

He argued that he had no desire to eat steak and potatoes at home every night for he appreciated a diverse palate.

Tamerlaine promptly disapparated on the spot.

Yet, among her vermilion lacy knickers, she also left a niggling cause which effectively left Draco deciding that he could not have any illness whatsoever. He especially did not have a mental infection. That simply would not do, for Draco Malfoy was nothing if not perfect.

The following week he found himself in the office of a Healer of Marriage and Sexual Psychology. One he chose after dropping eaves at the water cooler after a young witch told an amazing tale of this particular Healers talent at repairing her dull and unsatisfying marriage. Said Healer had a reputation of being the best at her occupation. As he relayed his unfortunate events from the prior week, said healer sat in fascinated awe of the audacity of the particular wizard.

Her rosy, Cupid's bow mouth was hanging open most unattractively and her brown doe like eyes were wide like tea-cup saucers.

Draco scowled at her and returned her blatant (and quite uncouth) staring. "I know it's quite unbelievable that a wizard of my stature could have such an encounter, but I find your gawking unnecessary." He pulled a long pipe from the inside of his robe along with a purple pouch that contained dried gillyweed. "Be professional Granger."

Hermione Granger snapped her lips into a fine white line, readjusted her crossed ankles and necessarily chastised him for his disgusting habit.

Draco let a slow smirk pass as he pushed a pinch of the gillyweed into the bowl, " I will do as I wish, and please put that pretty little face to better use and look less scandalized."

She wiggled her nose with distaste, but let the matter go, as with all petulancy, one must pick their battles. "Alright." Clearing her throat, she flipped open her notepad and replaced her tortoise shell spectacles upon her nose. "Mr. Malfoy, please explain why you think Miss…" She paused and waited for him to supply a surname.

He smiled and instantly she realized that he didn't take the time to learn Tamerlaine's last name and didn't even have the gumption to be ashamed. It was impudent.

With a resigned sigh, she began again, "Why would you guess that this witch's accusations have some credence?"

Draco put on bravado as if he really needed to consider an answer. Puffing along on his pipe, he scrutinized a spot in the corner of her office and began to figure. After a fat full minute, he spoke: "Because it has occurred precisely seven hundred and thirty-six times in my young life."

Once again, Hermione Granger's jaw fell loose on its hinges and she performed an entertaining mimicry of a guppy.

But one must do the math and consider that this wizard had become sexually active at the young age of fifteen. Although he held a relatively monogamous relationship during his school years, it was simply because Pansy Parkinson was too young and naïve to realize that such behavior was unsettling and impolite. Unbalanced hormones and sexual awakening was to blame for her foolishness. Also, during the four years the war raged, he only had a handful of encounters, and labeled that as a dry spell. Digressively however, Draco was nearing thirty years of age, and hadn't had a steady, committed association since he was seventeen. Figuratively thirteen years of sexual activity times fifty-two weeks in a year resulted in seven-hundred and thirty-six shags. That is if he had one encounter a week. This is also suggesting that many of his conquest were repeat acts and not sole performances. His promiscuity is comprehensible, albeit astonishing.

Once she regained her bearings, she asked "That a precise calculation, then?"

"Oh yes," he nodded certainly. "I have kept a tally on my wand box." Despite his calculations, he did mark the cherry wood container after each liaison.

The very idea was ludicrous and juvenile. Hermione merely raised an eyebrow, because for once, she wasn't surprised. "I see. Does this satisfy you?"

"Naturally," he said deprecatingly. "Everything I do is self-gratifying."

So not only was Draco vain and a whiz in multiplication, he was a hedonist as well.

Healer Granger immediately made note of this. "Hmm, interesting. Do you feel fatigued after masturbation?"

A suggestive smile ran along Draco's mouth and he leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees, and let his grey eyes wander along her attractively fit body. She had marginally changed since Hogwarts days. The very essence of the three P's. Prim, Proper and Pristine. Her dark hair was still outrageous, but well-managed. Pert nose upturn with superiority, because she really does just know it all. The only thing different about her is a voluptuous air of woman, telling that she is not in the least a novice.

"Do you feel weary after masturbation, Healer? Do you steal a moment between patients for a personal, self-indulgent Woosah?" Another of Draco's beloved hobbies was educing a modest blush from Hermione. It took minimal effort, and he was glad to see he still had that advantage, but he was greedy and wanted the apple of her cheeks to stain crimson. "What color are your knickers?" He raised a sagacious eyebrow at her. "Puce?"

She raised an eyebrow and told him gently, "May I remind you, Mr. Malfoy, that we have convened today to analyze an alleged sub-conscious issue that manifests in lethargy after intercourse. By no means are we to discuss my personal activities. So please, answer honestly. Do you feel tired after masturbation?" There was a twinkle in her eye, however, for she marveled his skill of guessing the particular color of her undergarments.

Unknown to her, was that Draco Malfoy had caught a glimpse from the toe of his shiny loafer when Hermione greeted him.

But answer her he did, in very vivid and tawdry detail and even managed to make her gasp (scandalized by the very idea to be sure) when he mentioned that she had starred in many of his elaborate fantasies.

She pursed her lips and let her erratic breathing calm so she could articulate her premature diagnosis properly. "It seems to me that you suffer from Post-coital Narcolepsy that I'm sure is a materialization of an insecurity. Upon additional scrutiny I will be sure. " She stood carefully and moved to her desk. "I would like you to try to have a lie-in on the mornings that you expect a dalliance, and a light diet. Nothing heavy. Also, I suggest you forfeit alcohol until further notice." She had written the instructions on blue parchment and proffered it to him.

Draco took a long drag from his pipe and relaxed into the armchair. "You aren't dismissing me so easily," he said whilst adjusting his robes. "I am not insecure, and until you realize that, I'm not leaving."

The witch merely smiled congenially and let the parchment drop in his lap. "Suit yourself, but I have a prior engagement to attend." She pivoted to her desk and wandlessly summoned her bag. As she backed to the exit, she waved her hand, "Remember it's Woooo on the inhale and Saaaahhh on the exhale." Then her pretty features turned in a parody of adversity, "Although that armchair is not comfortable for catnaps." And with that, she was gone.

Draco was reasonably dumbstruck. It had been ages since a witch refused his company and strategically put him in his place. What made him even more confused was the fact that he couldn't wait for his appointment next week and he wanted to follow her instructions diligently. It was a strange emotion that he had no care to feel.

A few days after his visit with Hr. Granger, Draco spent the afternoon resting and eating fruit. He had a date with an administration assistant on the third floor of Malfoy Ltd. offices. Her name was Cecilia and although dim-sighted, was easy on the eyes. Upon listening to her endless chatter (with immense difficulty) he learned that she had a friend, Marjorie, whom she liked to share with. Everything, said her wide suggesting smile. And Draco was glad for his wealth of energy.

However, even the two saucy wenches' eagerness could not swat the buzz in his brain. This troublesome murmur he named Hermione Granger. The blasted Healer that had denied his chance to perform adequately.

Cecilia and Marjorie found his situation profoundly humorous, and playfully satisfied one another's ravenous libido whilst ignoring the distraught blonde wizard.

He couldn't even enjoy the brilliant floor show being performed right on his own polar-bear skin rug.

He was exceedingly anguished, and abashedly unfulfilled.

His next session subjugated Hr. Granger to another vulgar and flamboyant tale of ginger-headed gal-pals and their acrobatics. Which, according to Draco, left him quite exhausted and he once again slipped into unwarranted repose.

"I see. Tell me about your parent's marriage." Once again, her notepad was settled on her lap, her ankles crossed demurely, but gods, her stripped quill was tapping against her full bottom lip.

It was nearly more than he could stand, but he managed to answer her compliantly, "They were incredibly affectionate and contrary to vox populi, my father was infinitely faithful. Before my father was sent to Azkaban, they were quite disgusting actually. After a morning of snogging each other senseless in front of the elves, any guests, and I, Mum would send Father off with a 'Bye darling, and good luck planning all your dastardly deeds.' It was a very ideal marriage."

Her eyes narrowed and she pursed her mouth suspiciously. "You're lying."

"Sadly pet, I am not." Draco said idly.

"Hmm. Interesting. What about their treatment of you? Were they equally affectionate?"

He chuckled maniacally and withdrew his pipe. "Hardly, I do believe that extreme affection is frowned upon by society. It's also illegal."

She gave an appalled huff, "That is not what I meant, and you know it, and please, do not smoke in my office." Her tone was waspish and irritated.

Just the way he preferred his Granger. Her frustration was pleasing to the eye.

He ignited the dried gillyweed anyway.

"My mother coddled me and my father was strict, but prideful. Until that night…" He paused and momentary sadness passed over his aristocratic features. "But everyone knows that story, so let's not discuss it, eh?" His attempt at cheerfulness was well-practiced.

Hermione nodded and jotted the revelation on her paper.

"So what color are your knickers today?" Once more the perspicacious look crossing his brow. "Celadon?" It was a simple action of his mouth, simple words, sounds and dialect designed just to elicit a reaction from her. And sure enough, Draco received it as he puffed along on his pipe.

Hermione's body tensed visibly, shoulders hunched with defense, her lips pressed together until her chin jutted forward, eyes blazing, and her cheeks turned nearly plum.

He began to count how long she held her flustered breath. Surprisingly, she came up for air after forty-two seconds.

"My knickers and their precise shade of color have absolutely nothing to do with your psychoanalysis, and I beg you to kindly leave them out of it." She bit out quickly.

A jumble of words he could barely comprehend.

"Now, I feel we've discussed enough today." She stood hastily, her toned body board straight, fists at her sides, and marched to her desk.

"I don't think so, Healer, I have loads more to tell you. Like how I find delight in your aggravation. It's really quite fetching the way your bosoms press—"

"Keep with the light diet and here is prescription for Pepper-up potion. Take it before any sexual activities. Good day." She thrust the azure parchment into his face again, and tapped her foot impatiently until he grudgingly accepted it.

Draco felt chastised and ashamed. Almost. "Next week, then?" He stood carefully, keeping his eyes on hers.

"Of course." She lifted her chin resolutely.

Draco smirked infamously at her and slowly appraised her form. Her breathing was still labored, but she blinked rapidly, as if uncomfortable. She did not move to back down from his study of her.

"Wear coral or salmon under things, they suit your skin tone perfectly," and before she could respond, he set out for the apothecary.

Limerence is a spontaneous and expressive state in which a person feels a passionate romantic yearning for another person. This is also better known as a crush. It begins with a barely discernible feeling of amplified interest in the limerent object, which, if nurtured by apt circumstances, can grow to colossal intensity, although in most cases it subsides to a low level after some time. At this phase, limerence is either altered through reciprocation or it is relocated to another person who then becomes the new limerent object. Under the best of conditions the diminishing of limerence through empathy is accompanied by the development of an emotional response more suitably described as love.

Crushing is an idea that Draco Malfoy is extremely familiar with. Many witches plausibly find him a tremendously idyllic limerent object. Not that he could truly blame them or their adoration, he was one helluva bloke, a real catch.

However, he had never experienced a crush in his life. Not that he was aware of. So the whole concept baffled him. He wasn't sure how to proceed, because he was sure Hr. Granger was not the roses and candy type of witch. She would surely be appalled at any limerick he wrote (for vulgarity was his only creative outlet) and if he simply asked her out, she would be suspicious, Chary and rejecting.

So what was a wizard's wizard, witch's wizard, wizard about town to do in times of limerence? Seek advice from his best mate.

Or imbibe entirely too much alcohol, but since Hr. Granger forbade it, he decided to go with the former.

Blaise Zabini, however, was on lock-down. Imprisoned for being an idiot, He was, the sentence was life. For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, until death do he part. His penitentiary was none other than Pansy Parkinson, the nag extraordinaire. Seriously, the witch had it down to an art form.

Said nag would not allow Blaise to go any where without her, and neither debauchery nor evil plotting (of seducing shaggy-haired healer) could be attended to proficiently.

When Draco voiced his quandary, the arrogant cow guffawed (snorting in between unattractively) and lampooned him for his admission.

According to Pansy, Hermione Granger Psy.H., Was the one unattainable witch in Wizarding Britain. She rarely was seen with a wizard escort and was never romantically linked to anyone. It was rumored that she was purely too persnickety. Her standards were too high and she was plainly too clever to be hoodwinked by a wizard.

But remember, Draco was not just any wizard, and he told the harpy extraordinaire exactly how much so.

Pansy waved him off and reminded him of his illusions of grandeur.

Blaise was unmistakably mute throughout the entire exchange.

However, Pansy suggested that Draco "Be himself" and charm her as he does all females, because Granger was nothing if not a witch and even witches have physical needs.

Draco sneered at her trivial advice and the next day took an overnight trip to Amsterdam. After ingesting a plate of hashish brownies and a few bottles of absinthe, he had a lovely conversation with a diving board about existentialism. Apparently the diving board questioned his purpose for subsisting also. A very wet and stationary life led to chronic melancholia and a fondness for podiatry. A hollow and audacious career choice for a diving board, Draco thought, but to each their own.

At his next session, Draco told Hr. Granger that he met an American heiress whose name reminded him of a rather smelly city in France and had a saucy fetish for something she called viddy-oh tape. Although he did spare the pretty witch sitting adjacent any explicit and racy details, only because he failed to think of any.

She seemed to appreciate that and handed him a box of lollies. "For your oral fixation," she explained, but he thought the gesture had ulterior purposes.

However, he did not attempt to withdraw his pipe from his pocket.

"Now, concerning your philandering this weekend, did you use the pepper-up potion?" She asked earnestly, quill and notepad at the ready.

"Yes." He said whilst drumming his fingers on the box loudly.

"Good, and how did it affect you?" She looked up eagerly at him through her adorable spectacles.

Draco briefly wondered if the humidity of the room only affected him. "It didn't help." His left forefinger hooked into his collar discreetly and gave a hearty tug. Hr. Granger must've noticed because her quill moved across the pad.

"Well, I'm sure that's because of the substances you abused negated the affects of the potion." Waspish again, and Draco's conscience suggested she was perhaps disappointed in him.

He oddly had the urge to confess the truth. To divulge that his only dalliance was with a depressed diving board, and that he spent his holiday devising a plan to court her.

The heart palpitations prevented him from articulating however.

"Draco? Are you feeling alright?" Hermione leaned forward and squinted with concern. By doing so, she gave Draco the knowledge that her décolletage was enclosed in a lacy, magnolia brassiere.

"Of course. I'm merely suffering from a katzenjammer." He offered a weak smile, and took a selfish last peek before she relaxed in her chair.

"As well you should." She chirped. "Have you considered that your hedonistic lifestyle is a solicitation for attention?"

Immediately he felt insulted. "Healer, my lifestyle is merely that of any young wizard. I live by the plain dictum of 'Wine, women, and song.' Surely I don't see how that is a quest for consideration." Draco's mouth moved into an indignant sneer, which consequently caused his straight nose to pull up. The sensation, although familiar, left him incredibly satisfied.

" Your hendiatris is exceedingly juvenile. That we agree on." Her eyes flashed like jewels and a few errant curls escaped their constraint. "Most wizards your age are prepared to settle down into nuptials and begin families. If you were a dandy of twenty, I would understand such behavior, but you, Mr. Malfoy, are nearing thirty."

"Your point, Healer?" He pretended he was bored with her tirade.

"My point is that I suspect you are still a spoiled, insecure brat and your 'Constitution' is a way of escaping commitment and responsibilities."

"Do you?" Somehow, he thought she might be on to something, but he didn't like that road and tried to deter her. "Many wizards envy my bachelorhood. I have witches swooning at my feet despite my constitution."

"Yes. Witches." She sighed heavily. "Witches who despite their lack of dignity and intelligence, are human beings with feelings and aspirations. They are not toys for your enjoyment."

He scoffed and itched to smoke his gillyweed. However, he did note the way she referred to his past conquests and wondered aloud, "are you jealous, Miss Hermione, do you wish you were a toy for my enjoyment?"

She folded her arms across her chest and blew her fringe out of her face. "As if. I have no interest in wizards such as yourself."

He smirked complacently and reached for her hand, "Because I could arrange for that. The very idea is appealing."

Her eyes turned to sepia and narrowed at him. "This conversation has led into very unprofessional territory and I'm stopping it now." She yanked her hand away and stood.

Draco quickly followed suit. "Why?" He ran his knuckles down the length of her arm, "Would you rather we take in dinner and a show first? A real Malfoy date?"

She trembled delightfully, but pulled her arm closer to her body and stepped from him. "I do not date clients and I think your session has ended."

His frame, towering although not incredibly tall, moved with her. "Well that's sensational and convenient, Pet. Because I feel that your services are no longer required." His fingertips ran down her spine and as she slapped away his advance, he spoke, "May I pick you up about seven?"

"Draco Malfoy, please leave my office promptly." Her voice was above a whisper, breathy and nervous, a half-hearted request at best.

His mouth moved into a mocking pout, "You don't really mean that."

"I do mean it!" She darted to her desk, but as he was only a half-step behind, she had to smack and push his flirtations away.

Leaning against her, he whispered into her hair, "Say you'll have dinner with me."

She spun on him and he was glad to see that her cheeks were flushed and hair wild, "I'll not, and you are sexually harassing me."

Draco grinned cheekily, "It's not harassment when you like it."

"I don't." Hermione breathed weakly, her eyes wide and searching his face.

He let his palm slide from her shoulder, his thumb brushing lightly against the curve of her breast until it clasped her tiny hand. "Au contraire mon cher." His slate gaze held her copper one whilst he kissed her knuckles.

Her shoulders visibly quivered and she turned a cheek to him. "Don't make me fetch security."

Draco rested his hands on the desktop and leaned forward, a mischievousness twitching at the corners of his mouth. "Now, now, methinks you don't really want to do that."

Her body bent back with him, and she nodded slowly. "Oh I do. This is against the healer slash patient code of conduct."

"Hmm," He let his nose nuzzle against her cheek, inhaling her lavender and vanilla aroma. "And a witch in your area of expertise should be able to recognize the signs of attraction." He ran a hand up the arch of her back to her nape, causing her face tilt toward his. He felt her knee bend against his calf and goose-bumps raised his skin, he took a shuddering breath and watched in delight as her lashes fell and mouth parted. "Would you deny that you are wanting me to kiss you?" He whispered only a hairsbreadth from her mouth.

"No." She said simply.

Then, as if he had been shocked, he tore away from her and sashayed to the door. "Then meet me at The Dizzy Snitch Wednesday night about sevenish."

Hermione cried out in objection, "You are delusional. Besides, Wednesday is St. Valentine's Day."

He raised a curious eyebrow, "Do you already have a date?"

"Of course not. I don't believe in celebrating such decadence." She straightened her trump skirt and patted her hair.

But, she was still immensely flustered and bothered. Breathing labored.

"Then I shall see you there." With a curt pivot he disappeared through the door.

While Draco Malfoy stood on the other side of the hinged oak and gathered his bearings (as it was extremely difficult for him to pull away from such a warm, pliant and inviting witch) he was unaware that Hermione Granger Psy.H. was biting her lip and grinning.

One must remember that the bite-lip-and-grin maneuver is the effect of a cause known as intrigue. Or according to an American New Wave band known as The Cars, who only really reached popularity in the 1980's, it's some reaction to the love. Although that debatable emotion is rather absurd, and the farthest idea from both characters' minds, at the moment.

It is universally known that Hermione is quite the bluestocking. In fact, she is so diligent about thoroughly investigating a topic, that she won't be satisfied until it is solved. Herein lays her problem, because she still hadn't figured out why Draco suffered from such an odd, but chronic occurrence. He was physically healthy, well-rounded (despite his hedonism), and tremendously intelligent. He could and did have his choice in witches. Which Hermione often crunched her nose at, because his carelessness was not appealing. However, for the next two days, he sent her many billets-doux that weren't lovely at all. In fact, they were very unambiguous scenarios and moving drawings of the most curious poses. Both involving him and her. Instead of being offended and disturbed, she was tremendously amused.

It was curiosity, she claimed, that brought her to the Dizzy Snitch on that Wednesday evening. She was propelled by compulsion to see her case through. She wanted to cure Draco of his condition, once and for all. Because she reasoned, that his appearances in her office were a call for help. Hermione believed whole-heartedly that he truly was finished sowing wild oats and wanted to be able to give a hundred percent to a witch. His circumstance, it seemed, only hindered that goal.

Besides, she wanted to tell him that she really didn't fancy being called Pet. It completely lacked originality.

Approaching the bar, she scanned the merry and very displaying crowd for his unmistakable silvery-blonde hair. It was absent. She figured that punctuality was probably not a strong point and he stuck with the old "Fashionably Late" rule. So to the bar she went and ordered a two-part cocktail of Pumpkin Juice and Gin.

However, all the way across town in a poorly lit office, Draco Malfoy sat unaware of her arrival, for he was being held hostage by a blubbering nag who swore she wanted to divorce her husband. The double-standard being that Pansy was allowed to frolic where ever without Blaise's company. Blaise, who somehow had managed to forget what an important Holiday it was. Pansy was inconsolable and would not let Draco speak (which he secretly preferred, but as it were, he had a pressing appointment to attend) as she launch into a diatribe of Blaise's many faults at husbandry.

However, as he meant to offer her his handkerchief, a brilliant idea struck him, and he promptly shoved the silken fabric into her rambling mouth.

That's when he told her about his impending rendezvous with Granger at the Dizzy.

From there Pansy chastised him for his stupidity and told him that he better hurry or he would regret his entire existence. Little did she know, he already had considered that, but felt that the diving board he met in Amsterdam had a far worse lifestyle.

It was forty-five minutes after eight post meridiem when Draco approached the door of The Dizzy Snitch. However, as he reached for the handle, he was accosted by a frizz-ball of curls and soft curves.

Draco lay against the cobblestone very similarly to a starfish and goggled at the witch tangled on top of him. Her fingers and thumbs were at battle with her mahogany curls, as she attempted to free her face. The later, possibly fighting for fresh air.

Once liberated from her follicle prison, her eyes widened and all she could manage from her vocal chords was an accusatory, "You!"

Her pert nose scrunched in anger but she surprised him greatly when she sat up and straddling him. She proceeded to yank at his necktie, and consequently crush her mulberry mouth to his in a tortuous and psychotic kiss. It was a very sloppy and wet kiss, but enchanting nonetheless. It made him feel extraordinarily dizzy as a wayward snitch. It seemed his bones melted into hers and he was glad he was recumbent on the pavement.

Just as the kiss slowed into a skillful seduction of taste, textures, and teasing, Hermione broke away and her tiny fist connected heatedly with his jaw.

Blindsided, an explosion of colors and pain danced across his lids and jaw. He swore with the talent of the Queen's Navy. Completely unobservant that the uppity witch had slumped to the cobblestone in a drunken stupor.

Once he did realize her scandalous position, he allowed himself a hearty chuckle, before gathering her petite frame in his arms and disapparated to his flat.

Upon arrival, he had a house elf fetch a sobering potion and carried the unconscious healer to the kitchen where he deposited her onto the counter.

He somberly administered the potion allowing it to take affect, and Hermione to rouse. However, she seemed annoyed still and didn't fancy seeing his smiling face after a restful slumber.

"You stood me up!" She accused and shoved his shoulder.

"Not on purpose, surely." He countered.

"I wanted to tell you something important." She rubbed at her eye and smeared the mascara.

Draco found it endearing. "Oh, were you prepared to profess your undying affection for me?"

"HA!" She rolled her eyes. "Not at all. I wanted to inform you that you are a pompous arse and I would never date the likes of you."

He smirked, "Is that so?"

"Yes." She nodded and raised her chin.

"And that kiss was nothing more than a good riddance?" He asked smugly.

"Obviously." She said flippantly.

His grin deepened and thumbed the bare skin on her thigh that a runner had exposed. "It didn't feel like goodbye. It felt like hello."

"Stop touching me!" She slapped at his hands, and gasped as pleasant tingles raced her skin. "It was goodbye."

"Let's try again, to be sure." He pushed the fringe out of her eyes and leaned in for her mouth.

She effectively dodged him. "No."

"C'mon Pet." Draco slid his hand along her thigh and pushed his hips between her knees. He used his hands to soothe her anxiety, and his mouth to illicit sweet desire. Her words and actions suggested that she didn't want his attentions, but her body…well it begged for his touch. "Tell me what you really want to do." He murmured against her throat.

She sighed deeply and her hands clutched at his shirt, her form writhing against his, but suddenly she seemed to surrender mentally. "I want to…to understand your infliction. But..oh. I think the only way. Is to. Physically research. For scientific, my goddess, hmm, scientific clarification."

"That's what I thought." His grin was wolfish, and her eyes enlarged as he captured her mouth in a ravenous snog.

But then, disaster.

"OW!" She sighed, and moved her hips forward. The faucet was digging a bruise in the small of her back. "Honestly, Draco, slide me over."

He snorted in her ear rudely, but obliged nonetheless. But once she was settled upon the counter instead of the basin of the sink, he reacquainted himself with the taste of her mouth.

Her head hit the cabinet hard.

She winced and gave an indignant grunt.

But as his hands fingers nimbly unfastened her blouse, his knuckles brushed against the swell of her breast. The sensation made sparks ripple across her skin, she forgave him instantly and her aching core grinded against him. It of its own mind and searching for his arousal. Instead she found the flat of his abdomen.

"Lower," he growled as his sweet tongue laved the shell of her ear.

"I'm trying," she breathed. "But you're too short for this."

He broke away from her immediately. His mouth stained red from her kisses, his cheeks rosy from her passion. it was his eyes, brooding dark with something other than desire, like charcoal from his wounded pride.

"I am not short, thank you very much." He sneered at her. "I'm taller than you."

She attempted to keep her eyes from rotating at his ridiculousness, but failed miserably, as she was often apt to do. "As well you should be. I'm only five two!"

"I'm average height."

"Undoubtedly."

They were staring daggers again. Clashes of copper and silver, but the connection was lost after three minutes.

"What do you suggest then?" He said softly.

"Well, the action is rumored to be quite pleasing when performed on a bed. Comfortable too." She smiled delicately.

"A bed? How droll." He pinched her thigh. "I thought you were creative."

"But traditional is the best course of action?" She pursed her mouth.

He shrugged and offered his hand to assist her off the counter. As she slid down she thought that perhaps it would have been more romantic if he picked her up and carried her off to a more giving surface. Pink fluffy thoughts were interrupted by her head being yanked back.

It seemed the cabinet had grown a fancy to her erratic, wayward curls and decided to keep a lock tangled in its wrought iron handle.

Hermione screeched her displeasure and declination.

Draco laughed at her, clutching his sides with unabashed mirth and amidst his snickers was the statement he would be waiting for her on his bed.

Honestly, the wizard was thoroughly charming, a real Casanova.

"Help me, you pretentious git!" She barked and wrapped her fingers around the ensnared strand and gave a yank. The sound of breaking follicles echoed in the kitchen.

But to her rescue he did come, brandishing his wand bravely, swishing the conductive instrument smugly. Then, ever the picture of the hero, he kissed his damsel's nose and took her hand gently.

Leading her to his bedroom, he pulled her frame to his, and began the seduction of her mouth again.

Her frilly unmentionables were made of expensive lace and were the color coral, which brought out the gold hues of her skin. He found satisfaction in knowing she wore them solely for his viewing pleasure.

New relationship energy is a mindset that is developed after mutual limerence has been established and bonded. It is based largely on positive and enjoyable emotions, and occurs in most relationships to a significant degree. It also thrives on reciprocated and known emotions and is longer lasting than limerence. Basically New Relationship Energy is Puppy love transcending a crush.

To Draco's great satisfaction, Hermione was very adept in her love-making. She seemed to know what caresses and moves triggered the most enjoyment and administered them successfully. His eagerness for her was astounding and although it didn't take long for each to simultaneously achieve maximum bliss, Draco recognized that he had never experienced such euphoria in all his life. To say the least, Hermione Granger, Healer of Psychology, rocked Draco Malfoy's world.

But as she snuggled against his chest, she slipped into a very content sleep.

As for Draco, he found he wanted her in all the ways a wizard wants a witch. He wanted the for now, always and just forever. But currently, he mostly wanted to know what her favorite color was and whether or not she attended summer camps as a kid. He was disheartened to see that his questions would remain unanswered as she slept on.

While she snored and drooled, Hermione's subconscious celebrated for she had discovered not only the cause of Draco's Post-coital Narcolepsy but a cure as well.

Draco merely invented a way to escape the nuisance of mushy-mushy pillow talk and obligatory cuddling. It was a fear of commitment and all he needed was to find a witch whom he truly wanted to commit too.

Luckily, he found that witch and would never suffer from the infliction again.

o0o

** Final Notes:** _I would like to mention that my style is a homage to the late, great Douglas Adams (who wrote the Hitchhikers series) and so there are a few shout outs to him. I hope that I achieved the request fully and you enjoy your valentine, although there is a lack of Valentine-ness. Sorry bout that. Also, Wiki-pedia…you are my hero._

_Would you prefer an art or fic valentine? FIC  
Describe your ideal valentine in as few words as possible: PG+ (I'm good with NC-17, if you feel the need for STEAMY romance. Romantic, a little fun, happy ending, humor encouraged. Maybe realistic crush on Draco's part? A valentine that is not your usual valentine.  
Dealbreakers (absolute no-no's): Shrewish, hates-Draco-till-the-last-possible-second Hermione, or secretly-in-love-with-Draco-all-this-time Hermione, non-con, and bastard-to-the-point-of-psycho Draco. Oh! And no sex with people under the age of 16. Other than that, have at it!_


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